My Family and Other Weird Stuff
by OrtumnAllbones
Summary: This is the account of my family's history as S-Rank criminals, it was intended to be a short essay intended to bore Konohamaru Sensei to death, but I made the great mistake of introducing my family, who, even when upon paper, proceed to take over, as is their nature. It was only with great difficulty that I managed to save a few pages exclusively for the War. Signed - Mitsuki
1. Foreword, because you need it

This is the story originally intended to BORE Konohamaru-Sensei to death as punishment when he said we should 'Interview a Ninja _who fought in one of the Great Shinobi Wars and then write it down so you can learn how easy you have it!'_ But I made the greatest mistake of interviewing my older sister, and it soon became apparent that it is impossible to write a boring account when including… my family, who, when written upon paper, completely take over! As is their nature.

This is an accurate and unexaggerated picture of my family, written as each person saw each other. To explain some of our odd ways however, I should explain that my Parent is an S-Rank criminal, considered a warrior-hero during the beginning course of events; and that my sister, at the start of our story, was four, she is now thirty-five with four children of her own and insists I explain that although she has always been a single parent she never placed herself in a position to become one (whatever that means…), claiming _'you never know what misinformation might get back to my kids'._

Because of this I have been forced to leave out many events and people that I would have liked to describe, but, with my Parent's help, I've managed to hint at such moments as suggestions so as not to ignite the fury of others.

In order to gather notes on decade's worth of bloodshed, malice, inhumanity and the joy of living, I have been forced to weasel, graft, travel and endanger my life by exhibiting a bratty personality, therefore it seems justified that I should include those expeditions as modern-day chapters between historical chronicles. It was only with great difficulty that I managed to save a few pages exclusively for the War.

This could never have been written without the help of (in no particular order):

Orochimaru, our Parent, who was more than happy to relate the moments my sister refused to speak of, also, his devious and malicious ways that worked their way into the history books and makes our world a little more interesting.

Kabuto Yakushi, who let me look at his old Data Cards and gave me a perspective of my family from his perspective of a close, though somewhat brainwashed, family friend, even though he was apologetic while explaining his role during the War and our family life.

He also helped me with grammar and spelling, so should you wish to throw flaming arrows at me, please, take it up with him.

My nieces and nephew, Chou-Lin, the eldest, Emiko and Eri, who are four years younger than their older sister and haven't forgiven me for not remembering which one is which despite them being fraternal twins. And Koichi, my only nephew. The four of them had much to say and without their understanding of their mother during her teen years; writing about her accurately would have been impossible! They are also prompted one another with embarrassing stories of each other's infancy and toddler-hood, for which I am grateful!

Sasuke Uchiha, our Parents prodigy. He said he was disinterested in our family life as he was busy training, focusing on revenge and making many mistakes. But it was excellent to have material from the disrespectful perspective of a stroppy, self-obsessed, entitled, pubescent teenager who only noticed the truly important situations due to his narcissism.

My older brother Log, the middle child, who is five years younger than my sister. Only making occasional appearances he was able to explain the oddity of our nieces and nephews during his visits.

I should like to pay special tribute to Yukiko, my older sister, and it is from her perspective these tales are told, even though she was too stubborn to explain most of them herself, she was able to provide me with a clear view of the Third Shinobi War from a child's perspective and its effects on the world as she travelled with our Parent.

Although she mostly refuses to speak about the past she does so because she looks at the great world beyond the horizon. Like a great Pirating Captain she continues to sail her ship of roguish crewmates through life's stormy seas, forever faced with the prospect of mutiny, unsure her helmsman skills would be approved but certain to be blamed for any complication.

That she survived is a miracle, even though I believe surviving cost her-her sanity as she has reached that peace of mind whence nought bothers, startles nor shocks her. Proven last year when I appeared in the Leaf Village, purposely struck with amnesia and unable to accurately recall myself; my true relationship with our Parent and Log, the latter I considered a villainous adversary.

Finding me sleeping on the streets in such a disillusioned state, a lesser mortal might have 'freaked out', as Boruto said, but not Yukiko. She hunted Sasuke Uchiha down, beat him up for information on Orochimaru's location, dragged me to him, forced him to retrieve Log and put my scrambled brain back together, stating: _'If you wanted him to make his own decisions and follow his own path you shouldn't put false ones in his head you scaly old manipulator!'_

Which, I think, reveals just how well she knows her family. And it's because of her knowledge that I decided to remain with her.

Finally, I would like to thank all the unmentioned people who gave me the memories stored inside their heads for many years. What they had to say was absolutely true, confirmed by the gathered statements of others.

Finally, I would like to mention Master Jiraiya, who, even though he's long gone, almost everyone mentioned him and spoke in his behalf. He provides much humour, concern and more affection than I ever thought he would, and I look forward to the day I move onto the afterlife and show him everything I wrote, the Seventh Hokage says he'd like it, but he would try to promote his own work somehow, so it only seemed right that his books would make countless appearances acting as shields to hide Lord Kakashi's perverse blush, but apparently, Master Jiraiya might not appreciate this…

I think the atmosphere and transmutation of our family can be summed up in Kabuto's statement: _'Families are like tree branches, they warp as they age and even branch off, but they get stronger every year.'_

Mikki


	2. 1: Just Blame the Elderly

Halloween was upon us, the crisp autumn was weighed down and dissolved by the rain creating a slush upon the ground and a stinging drizzle in the air, viciously biting at any exposed flesh it passed; reddening cheeks and noses, cracking the delicate skin of bravely exposed hands.

The greenery of the Leaf Village had turned grey with the dull clouds spraying their showers forth, it was the weather designed to test ones endurance to remain unaffected by the uncontrollable elements soaking through clothes and running blue dye from the denim fabric of headbands.

Considering the weather it is my believe that animals are either particularly stupid, else they are vengeful, for the giant panda that haunts the days of my teammates and myself had escaped his warm enclosed habitat, breaking down the door of his heated shed and forced us from the warmth of our kotatsu's and the shelter of our dripping roofs; to run out into the sleeting mizzle and spend our day searching for it.

I laid in the soppy mud beneath a drenched bush, waiting for Konohamaru-Sensei's belated signal, chilled to the bone which cast a fiery glow to my unusual skin as I conversed with the slimy bugs crawling upon me and down the collar of my kimono as freezing liquid trickled down my face from my headband and watered my mucus down to a liquid that dripped from my red nose so that I was forced to sniff and potentially drown in my own fluids, struggling to breathe through open mouth as the raw air burnt my throat and chest like an icy digestion.

Sarada, hunched and darkly glowering, hidden within the bare branches of a fallen tree, the weather had hollowed her black eyes to black holes and swelled the cavities of her ears with the promise of a cold, sprinkling her forehead with an outbreak of achne that she had confused for the stinging of rain drops blotching her face in an array of red patterns, seasoning her symptoms with grey fingers lined with broken skin.

Konohamaru-Sensei was gifted with sweet dreams of a warm bath and the soul-ripping understanding that paperwork would interfere with his long-awaited soak. His eyes watered and ran with the rain blown into them by the surging wind cracking his lips open like egg-shells.

Only Boruto seemed to remain untouched, moody by nature it was difficult to see exactly how the weather might worsen his permanent mood, but it's accurate to assume he was annoyed by the entire expedition.

Of course, it was Boruto who started it, as always. The rest of us felt too dreary to consider anything aside from our own ills, but Boruto explodes like the sun in mid-July, prompting people to take residence beneath his radiating mouth but is quick to turn aside once he's scoured them, refusing to accept the blame for doing such a thing to those he called out, and was even quicker to turn the criticism upon them for leaving themselves unprotected when in his presence.

He had become increasingly loud-mouthed as the day wore on and decided to verbally attack the elderly, which he naturally considers anyone over twenty, while comparing his chosen career as a Ninja to his beloved video games.

"That was SO hard!" He whined as we left the giant panda in its preserve… again… and fixed the door… again… "And in this dumb wet weather! I bet that dumb panda chose today to do this to us on purpose! He has a _thing_ against us!"

"Do you mean a vendetta?" Sarada asked, proud to use her newfound vocabulary discovered in the latest thesaurus.

"It's the old people's fault! Building such a weak door when there's a crazy strong panda inside! Why do they torture us young people like this? I bet it's 'cause they're too old to actually 'LIKE anything else! When they're done complaining about us they wanna torture us!"

"That's not true." Konohamaru-Sensei insisted.

"It is!" Boruto indignantly continued. "They wanna watch us get wet and cold and sick so they'll have something new to moan about! Today's mission was so tough, harder than this year's game upgrade and that's crazy difficult! Not that old people would even know what a video game is…"

"Has the game been upgraded? I hadn't noticed." I said.

Sarada frowned. "How could you not notice?"

"You see! That's how the elderly are affecting our lives, it's become a major operation to get a teenager to notice his game's become harder; 'cause they're working him to the bone for their own entertainment!" He hollered, pointing an exclaiming finger at me while glaring at our Sensei. "I've used up all my lives already; you should give me some of yours if you're doing so well!" He made sure to add.

"NONE OF YOU KNOW A THING ABOUT HARD WORK!" In unison we bewilderedly blinked as Konohamaru-Sensei's rage exploded alongside the vein pulsating in his forehead as he ground his teeth. "Do any of you even know what it's like to work up a sweat while burning your hands with concentrated chakra?"

"Why would we? That sounds unpleasant." I noted.

"My grandfather—"

Witheringly, we rolled our eyes. "Oh no he's gonna talk…" Boruto grumbled.

"—would be ashamed to see the laziness of this generation! Boruto, Sarada, Mitsuki! All of you have an S-Rank Mission to find and interview a REAL Shinobi who fought in one of the Great Ninja Wars and write down everything they tell you in great detail until you appreciate just how easy you have it!"

We took the matter straight to the Hokage and stood before him like drowned rats as Boruto loudly explained our situation, arguing with himself and was seemingly jealous at how dry and warm his father was, this I could tell because Boruto seemed to be purposefully swishing his head and splattering muddy water drops about the office.

"IT'S NOT FAIR!" He cried, slamming his hands on Lord Naruto's desk, purposefully knocking the paperwork, having finished explaining the day's events and our Sensei's orders. "Konohamaru-Sensei's out of control! Interview a Shinobi? What's so great about that? All they did was train. It's a stupid idea!"

"Alright, Konohamaru's a maniac. I think the best way to handle this _mad_ situation is for you to ask old people around the Village how they handled similar nut-jobs during warfare, you can write their tactics down, tell me how they handled it and I'll put an anbu-squad together to follow through with their battle tactics."

Boruto glowered. "You're making a sarcastic joke about what Konohamaru-Sensei actually wants us to do!"

Perceiving that he had made a slight tactical error in his parenting, Lord Naruto lowered his papers. "Maybe that's because I actually think it's a great idea." He stated to Boruto's horror.

"Of course you do!" Boruto hollered, pointing accusingly. "Because you want to make our lives harder than they already are! Grown-ups are all like that!"

Lord Naruto stood before his son and quietened him by ruffling his hair. "Perhaps this 'Mission' will help you see that's not true. We had no shortcuts, no computers, we had to walk everywhere on foot and even the easiest missions had enemies on the road waiting to kill us. You can interview anyone you want, from any Village you choose. Everyday for a month."

"A month of just talking to people?" Sarada smiled. "It'll be just like a vacation!"

Boruto scowled. "Talking to old people all day? Pfft!" He turned to leave. "Sounds like a punishment for being young." He slammed the door and we bowed before following him.

"Lord Naruto," I stopped as Sarada hurried around the corridor.

"Hm? What is it Mitsuki?"

I smiled awkwardly. "Can I really interview anyone I want?"

"…That's what I said."

"Thanks!"

I joined Sarada and Boruto outside as we began our walk home, washing the leaves from our hair and slugs from our bodies as the rain pounded upon us. Boruto made it quite clear that his thoughts were focused upon his video games while I was daydreaming of my sitting rooms warm kotatsu and my new pack of cards, but Sarada remained studious as ever. "I think I'll interview Lord Seventh!" She beamed, blushing with the thought. "He's done a lot, right Mitsuki? The publishers could make an entire manga series about him!"

Boruto pouted. "Who'd wanna read something like that about someone like him?"

"Well, who are you gonna choose?" She prompted.

"…Probably Uncle Sasuke."

She looked surprised. "Really?"

"I'm not surprised," I said, "he's your idol, right, Boruto?"

"Who needs something like that? Anyone can write about a hero! But an anti-villain? That would make a great essay; I bet even the dumb old fart never wrote anything like that!"

I grinned. "From what I understand Lord Seventh never wrote a sentence until he became Hokage."

"Hold your tongue!" Sarada bristled.

"I'd rather not, my hands are wet and slimy enough already."

"Lord Seventh is smart, strong and intelligent! He works hard all day for the village!" She curiously gazed at me. "Who _are_ you going to write about, Mitsuki?"

"Mitsuki!" A familiar voice called to me. My sister stood at the end of the road, her arms full of shopping bags. She was just as soaked as we were, her long ginger hair stuck to her, her hood snatched by the wind. Water steadily dripped in flurries of trickles from her green coat, soaking her brown heels. Her pale blue eyes bore the exhaustion of the weekly shop and her red nose reminded me of the colour of my own.

I lifted my hand to wave goodbye to my teammates. "My sister." I replied before running to the woman they were staring at, confused as to who she might be.

I took one of the bags from her and waved again before following her home.


	3. 2: Unprepared

We threaded our way out of the pouring rain, relieved by the shelter of the balconies belonging to the apartment blocks of our home, blocks of colour haphazardly piled atop one-another.

We climbed each grey stairwell, gazing out at the hammering rain pouring from each balcony like a steady waterfall before us.

My sister, key in hand, trembling with the cold, opened the door and ushered me inside. "Shoes off!" She cried when I attempted to make a steady dash to the kotatsu. "Bags in kitchen, then bath. Your cards will still be there."

"I think you dropped a few verbs on the way in." I said as I removed my shoes, happy to find she failed to notice them caked in mud and soaked through, I left them as a happy pair dirtying the mat.

Konohamaru Sensei's orders left my mind, cast out by the cold, until I was washed, dry and half-buried beneath the kotatu, my cards pushed aside and the television quietly playing before my tired eyes. "Hey, Yukiko," I yawned, my head resting on the table-top.

She was also curled beneath the kotatsu, her head resting on the floor cushions. "Yeah?"

"Konohamaru-Sensei wants us to write about Shinobi's who fought in the Ninja Wars, can I interview you?"

"Didn't I tell you about the Fourth Ninja War already?"

"How about the Third?"

"I wasn't a Shinobi then."

"But you fought, right?"

"…In a way. I helped injured Shinobi on the battlefield while Orochimaru fought."

"Even better!" I hurried to grab a pen and one of my notebooks, sat opposite her and waited to hear all she had to say. "Where would be best to begin? Boruto's going to interview Sasuke and Sarada's going to interview Lord Seventh… naturally."

She thought for a while. "No War's as heroic as they'll make it sound. It was terrifying, children young as six were pushed out of Academies and onto the battlefield. War isn't so much about fighting as it is about surviving, it makes you realise that surviving and living are two very different things."

I clicked the ball point into my pen. "Let's begin there then."

With a pained sigh she began.

I just wasn't ready for what she had to say.


	4. 3: Child's Battleground

The Winter Festival was approaching, emphasized by the soft snow that fell so delicately, illuminated red as the fires surged and the flakes peacefully landed, dissolving into the puddles of splattered blood, congealing into a mixture of ice and clots as feet, bare and clothed, painted their feet with as they dashed through it, leaving bloody footprints in their wake, for some of them, those footprints would be all that was left of them.

"Get up!" Orochimaru's voice awakened Yukiko from her peaceful slumber, her fluffy covers thrown aside as she was knocked from her warm confines onto the hard wood floor. The room was heated with the fires burning the village, her room with lit with scarlet light firing through the curtains as scolding heat burnt the glass.

She was dragged from her room, knocking the teddies beneath her feet as Orochimaru hurried down the stairs with her, their hearts racing as the familiar sirens screeched, whining as bombs rattled the house they ran from and entered the illuminated streets beneath the black sky of smoky clouds. Orochimaru pulled on his Jounin jacket as he ran, dragging his daughter behind him, barefoot in her nightdress, the sharp paving stones upon the ground scrapped and cut her feet.

"Run to the Orphanage!" He threw her aside, exploding into smoke with a flick of his hands.

Though only four years old, the memories of that terrifying night would remain imprinted within her mind forever; the whirring of the sirens as she ran into the haze of screaming people running passed her, from something, as she headed for the Village gates. An explosion knocked her off her feet, the building beside her crumbled as she watched the man opposite her stand only to be flattened by the ginormous foot that crushed him.

Hiding in the shadows of the rubble, Yukiko watched as the giant towering one-hundred-feet or more walked through the Village, the paving stones cracking beneath his weight as he grabbed those who ran before him, throwing them over buildings and trapping them beneath the bricks of the buildings he smashed to reach the clusters of terrified Villagers, crushing those he grabbed in his gigantic hands as if they were delicious insects, delightfully soaking his tongue in their blood.

As the giant followed the shrieking Villagers headed for the shelter, Yukiko escaped from her hiding place, darting through the broken streets blocked with debris.

"Summoning Jutsu!" Behind her a woman called, her hand firmly plastered on the ground. She smiled wickedly and ran, the Earth symbol on her headband glinting as the ground trembled and a giant worm burst out! Glaring at Yukiko and roaring as its mouth of whirring teeth opened as wide as possible. Blind, it short forth, bursting into the debris and intentionally knocking the bricks aside, creating an escape route, its head stuck in the window of a building as Yukiko scuttled passed.

The gates were in sight! But freedom could never be so easily accessed.

The ground shook and, from a distance, she watched a tall burly man direct the quake into the mass of running people, black flames filled the chasm opening beneath them, swallowing them whole and burning them alive as he laughed, leaving only when the screams of the tortured ceased and the black flames died with them.

Yukiko trembled, moving as he left. Her knees knocking as she shimmied passed the broken ground, trying not to divert her gaze down to the black ash as she danced across the unstable stone cracking and crumbling beneath her.

Blood splattered her as she raced passed the warring Shinobi, cut by flying kunai's as she finally exited the gates, broken open.

The Orphanage was only a few feet outside the Village. The lights were out and it was silent as the grave.

She ran into the bushes, knowing that hidden there was an underground shelter, with shaking hands she ratted the iron hatch, unable to knock loudly as she sobbed and the screams of the Village behind her grew, the roar of the giant and the rumble of the summoned worm sounding as she scratched the hatch, trapping iron splinters beneath her nails until it opened and the concealed Nun pulled her inside.

The Nun was Nonō Yakushi, Yukiko was pulled into her embrace, the Nuns adopted son curled into her side.

The small hold was full of children; all calmed by the three carers who struggled to take their mind off the on-going war.

"There was a worm," Yukiko whimpered, "will it go underground and eat us?"

Although possible, Nonō smiled a caring, reassuring smile. "I'd never let anything happen to any of you." And those words were enough to calm her.

There they waited, underground until the cracks of daylight replaced the firelight shining through the cracks in the hatch above them and the screams faded into steady silence as the winter birds cried, welcoming the new day as they feasted on the flesh of the dead.

Kanpu was the first to leave, he being one of the caretakers, an older man with a harsh grey beard and side swept hair, his wisdom and knowledge of the years evident by his moustache and studious square glasses. "It's over!" He called after all in the shelter had experienced a deafening silence laced with terror.

They breathed a sigh of relief, the children shakily standing as Nonō continued to reassure them. "You see!" She lifted her son and Yukiko off her sides. "I told you we'd be alright!"

Less could be said for the Village.

Exiting the underground and entering the morning light when you have been unsure as to whether it would ever appear to you again outside the Spirit Realm truly is the most refreshing emotion you could ever experience. The Village smoked in the distance, the sky filled with its black smoke as the cries of the trapped sounded amongst that of the rescue party.

"Your father will be worried about you." Nonō stated, staring at the distant smoke with Yukiko.

"M-maybe he's dead?" She suggested.

Nonō smiled that reassuring smile again. "I'm sure he's not, he's one of the Village's strongest Shinobi." Such a shame Nonō did not realise it was the opposite of Orochimaru's welfare that interested Yukiko. "Come, I'll take you home." Yukiko lifted her arms and the Nun carried her back.

The morgue was full and Nonō's feet danced around the rows of bodies lining the streets, rows of black bin-liners; the final outfit for each fortunate person who had not been cindered by the black flames. More dead than alive were retrieved from the rubble and laid out to be dressed in their black plastic, stood in their midst, conversing with the Hokage, stood Orochimaru, wearing his grin as he stood amongst the dead as though he were some form of Grim Reaper. His white face was stained with the blood of the slain, his web of dark hair shone though it was tangled and blood dripped from his hands as though he'd torn the intestines from his victims. The war was an excuse for him to do much evil and an opportunity to disguise his actions.

"Look, there he is." Nonō set Yukiko down. "You should go to him, let him see how frown up you are, he might think you walked back all by yourself."

Within those words were a hidden kindness, Nonō seemed to know more of Yukiko's home life than she allowed any other to know.

Yukiko trembled as she stiffly waltzed between the bodies, headed towards Orochimaru, she turned to stare at Nonō behind her, puppy eyes full of pleading, reflecting a mind of unspoken horrors, knowing that surviving the night of assassins would only deliver her to a day of torment at the hands of a demon disguised as a familial protector. But Nonō was gone and Yukiko turned aside from whence she had been to find two longs legs close to her face and slowly looked up, turning as white as the face glaring down at hers.

"…Papa…"


End file.
